I had a good sleep, or rather I was unconscious. I was too tired to dream of anything so nothing haunted me in my sleep and when I wake up, it is already night time even though when I fell asleep it was still midmorning. The place seems quiet except for the sound of the television playing softly, and I turn my head left and right to look and see if there's somebody there.

Dean is sitting on the next bed flipping through channels but Sam is nowhere to be found. Still feeling a bit drowsy, I close my eyes and embrace the normalness of the TV droning on in the background. I need a break from all the demons and evil stuff for a little while. Even if it's just five minutes. I still feel weak and sore all over and I don't want to move for fear of feeling pain. I take a few deep breaths before opening my eyes again. I lift my hand to my aching head and wince when I feel the wound there.

I hiss involuntarily and Dean turns around. He gets up and says, "You're awake. How are you feeling?"

"Like shit. Better, but still shit," I reply. I try and get up, but immediately become giddy and Dean settles my back onto the bed again.

"Easy there, kid," he says.

"I need to clean up my wounds," I mumble.

"Let me do it," he offers. Not letting me answer, he gets the first aid kit and a towel in a bowl of water.

He sits down in front of me and sets the things down on the bedside table. Gently, he takes my wrists and wipe off the dried blood on them. Now, the cuts don't look as grisly but the bruises are still bad.

He uncaps a bottle of ethanol and warns me, "This is gonna sting a little."

"Yeah, I hate this stuff," I mutter. I still jerk and hiss when the alcohol touches my skin. "Where's Sam, anyway?"

"He went out to get some food," Dean answers while rolling bandages onto my wrists. Finishing with my arms, he moves to my head where he grimaces when he lifts up my hair from the wound.

"Is it bad?" I ask, reaching up to touch it.

Dean catches my hand before I can get to it. "Don't touch it," he says. "It's not the worst I've seen, but it's not pretty." He wipes the side of my face from the hairline down. I catch a glimpse of the red stains on the towel before he rinses it in the warm water. More ethanol and bandages are involved and soon my head is patched up. The bandage is slightly tight around my head, but the pressure helps my faint headaches. I touch it gingerly and feel the rough gauze against my fingertips.

From my head, he moves on to the slash wounds. They needed stitches so he got dental floss, a sewing needle and a bottle of strong alcohol. The stitching is a slow and painful procedure and luckily not all of my cuts required it. We don't have anesthetics of any sort so I am forced to endure the pricks in full force. I then get to wash them in painful douses of vodka. Lovely.

"Thanks," I smile bitterly at Dean after recovering from the stitches.

"No problem," he says, smiling back. "Is there anything else that needs checking?"

I involuntarily look at my ankles folded underneath my thighs. Dean catches my furtive look and places a hand on my knee. It is summer and it's hot enough for me to wear my denim shorts andI can feel his calloused hand against my skin.

"Let me see your legs," he whispers in a voice that doesn't encourage argument.

Slowly, I unfold my leg and shift position so my knees are propped up and my sore ankles in full view. I take off my boots and socks, revealing scar not unlike the ones on my wrist but more serious. Dean sighs as if I'm being childish before placing my feet on his lap so he could tend to the wounds there. My ankles are bruised and the left one is swollen. When Dean touches it, I draw back with a hiss. It really hurts and I don't want to move it again. Dean tries to get to it again but I just pull back. He looks at me with a raised eyebrow and I just shake my head.

"Okay, we'll do this one first then we'll take a look at that swollen one, okay?" He says.

I let him do my right ankle, keeping my left one out of reach. Though a little bit of physical pain is nothing like the agony I went through during the flashing of images, I still don't want anybody touching it. For a life like this, it may sound very childish but I am barely 16, I'm allowed to behave like this while I can.

Dean cleans and wraps up my right ankle and I grit my teeth when he applied the ethanol. After that it done, I curl up and move back into the bed post, still reluctant for my left ankle to come in contact with anything.

"I'll be gentle, okay?" Dean coaxes. "If it hurts a lot then I won't touch it anymore."

I still don't move but I let him pull it towards him as gentle as he can. He brushes the towel over it to clean it. When he puts a bit too much pressure, I whimper and try to move away. "Alright, alright," Dean soothes everytime. "We're almost done."

He manages to keep me calm to clean all the dried blood off the swollen ankle. He inspects it, moving my foot to make sure it's not broken. It hurt and I cry out in pain. "No, don't do that," I cry.

"Okay," he says, letting go of my foot and I bring it back to me. "It's not broken or twisted, just sprained. I'm just going to wrap it up and it won't hurt after that. Are you gonna let me do that?"

"Is it going to hurt when you do it?" I ask in a small girly voice that I am not proud of.

"I can't lie," he says grimly. "It'll hurt, but if it doesn't hurt it doesn't heal, right?"

"I guess," I mumble, "but I still don't want to do it."

"It's only going to get worse if you leave it," he says. "It might become permanent. Do you want to limp for the rest of your life?"

I let out a huff of air and thrust my foot back on his lap. "Just get it over with quick," I say. I squeeze my eyes shut and brace myself for the pain. I grit my teeth when he touches it. Some spots hurt more than others and I let out a little "ah" when the bandage squeezes it. After a few minutes of tightly shut eyes and grit teeth, I begin to feel the ankle get numb to the outside world.

When I can't keep my eyes shut anymore, I open an eye with curiosity and ask, "Are we done?"

Dean chuckles and I open my eyes fully. My ankle is wrapped tightly with white bandages going around the back and bottom of my foot. The wrap stops my foot from moving too much and my ankle is in relief of pain at last. I wiggle my toes and smile contentedly.

"Feels a lot better, doesn't it?" Dean asks with a slanted smile.

I grin and nod. I cross my legs again and lean my body forwards with my arms outstretched. "Thank you so much," I say as I wrap my arms around his neck for a hug.

He returns the hug with one arm that easily stretches across my back. "Yeah, well you do this job, you bound to get hurt all the time," he says. "Just be careful."

"Okay, but thanks for saving me, too," I smile. "I didn't like it in there at all. It was painful," I confess softly.

"It's okay," he replies, "you're safe now. Nothing's gonna hurt you, I promise." He holds me even tighter with both arms around me now. He tucks his head into my neck but I don't protest. I feel a sense of safety and comfort wash over me. I'm still here. I'm still with the best company I have ever had in my entire life. I'm still living alongside two men who are the best big brothers anybody can have. I am reminded once again, that aside from mum and dad who are half across the world and probably dead, they are my family. Finally, Dean lets go. His eyes are red and there is sadness oozing them.

I cock my head to one side. "Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you crying?"

"No, I'm not," he says defensively. "I don't cry. Crying is for wussies."

I giggle. "You are crying," I point out. "It's okay, men can cry, too."

He looks at me and smiles. "Really?"

"Of course, you have feelings, too," I reason out. "Why are you crying though?"

He shrugs and sighs before looking at me sadly. "Because I just realized you're family now," he answers. "And I can't bear to lose you or let anything hurt you."

I lift the corners of my lips in a small smile. I look down my wrist where my lucky bracelet is hanging just above the white gauze. I untied its knot and let it fall off its place where it has been for years now. I take his hand and tie my bracelet around his wrist.

"What are you doing?" He asks.

"I just wanted to give you this," I say. I look fondly at the blue bracelet with its black border. I made it myself, working for hours tying knots to form the arrow pattern on it. "It's for strength," I explain. "It kept me going for years now, hasn't failed me yet. Wear this," I look into his green eyes, "and you'll never lose me."

He looks at me and smiles again. "Thanks, it means a lot. But what about you? Think you can survive without it?"

"I'll be fine," I grin. "I've got you guys."

The door opens and Sam appears with two bags of what smells like fast food and a tray of drinks. We look up at him struggling with the door. He looks at us and lifts both arms.

"Are you guys gonna help me or what?"

Dean tells me to lay off the strained foot and he goes to help Sam close the door. Sam sets the food down on the table and passes the food out. Each of us gets a drink, a burger and a packet of chips each. Time and again they tell me that it's called fries but old habits die hard and I still call them chips.

"What's in that bag?" I point to the small plastic bag that Sam did not acknowledge.

"Oh, some meds for you," he answers. He takes one bottle out after another, reading off the labels. "These are painkillers, these are for headaches and these are for that lovely throat of yours that will lose its voice soon."

I didn't notice how bad my throat has become until he pointed it out. "Thanks," I smile. I take a sip of the cold soda in my paper cup. I finish half of it in one gulp because it's the first drink I've had since I was kidnapped so many nights ago. I hadn't noticed how hungry I am and I finish my food before they even had time to unwrap theirs. I take a pill out of each of the three bottles Sam bought for me and downed them with my remaining gulp of soda. The effects of a full stomach and the medicines came immediately and I lean back on my bed. I feel drowsy again and maybe a little bit drunk with satisfaction. I smile dreamily at the TV playing some soppy soap opera.

"By the way," I speak up after a few minutes of silent eating. "How long was I gone?"

Sam and Dean look at me. "Five days," Dean answers. "It took a while to hunt you down. Why?"

"Just asking."

This is my favourite chapter in this section of the Saga. I just love it when Dean's older brother instincts kick in and he just cares for everybody and makes sure they're okay. The big brother vibes I get from Sam and Dean are the reason I wrote this thing in the first place. Also I wan't Dean to finally be able to fix up at least one person he loves to somehow ease the guilt of letting the demons get to her. The poor man needs a break from all that pain and sorrow.

Also a little side note, I'm going to be having this little author's note thing going on because I really like share my thoughts about everything. All the bolded words are Author's Notes and I will not slot one in in the the middle of the passage because I find that really annoying. :)